Curiosity Kills
by onlyandromeda
Summary: When a young woman, Katherine Aldridge, leaves a private cryogenic vault in New York and makes the trek to her home in Boston, she's thrust into a world that is nothing like the one she left. It's there, in Boston, where she finds unlikely friends, and a woman whose past is very similar to her own. It's there that she encounters a washed up spy with a wall she's dying to tear down.
1. Prologue

Sanctuary really lived up to its name: plumbing, electrical, almost manicured dead grass, roofs that didn't leak… It was the real deal. In the year and a half since the Vault Dweller – er… Nora, had come out of 111, a lot had changed. The Institute was gone – because of her, it had been literally wiped off the face of the earth. It was now a crater the likes of which no one had seen before. It gave ground zero a run for its money. The Minutemen were a functioning, cohesive force. The Brotherhood, while it lingered, was no longer a threat under Elder 'I-Eat-Nails-For-Breakfast' Maxson. Everywhere that woman touched was better for it. She definitely was the shining beacon of hope for the Commonwealth.

It helped to think of it all. On cool summer nights, it brushed a little more topsoil in on the hole Deacon swore everyone could see in his chest. It could rival the crater where CIT once stood. Then again, maybe that was just the beer talking.

Sanctuary's little bar, tucked in nicely at the end of the cul-de-sac, was famous for two things – a killer mystery meat pie, and a bartender that never cut you off after you'd had one too many. Their motto had literally become, ' _I don't know if there's a God out there, but if there is… Thanks for Drinkin' Buddy'_. They had Preston to thank for that one. More often than not, that bar is where Deacon found himself.

Nora had asked about a thousand times if everything was okay. Hell yeah, everything was peachy-fuckin-keen! What could he really complain about? Arch enemy? Gone! Dead wife? Avenged! Still dead… He didn't have to dig a hole before tending to his own bodily functions. The water was almost as pure as pre-war. At least that's what Sturges claimed. He had his own house thanks to Nora. The lights worked. The electrical was even inside the walls! He really shouldn't have anything to complain about… But he did.

A few, pretty words came to mind when he thought about himself. _Desultory. Lackluster. Void. Depleted._ Whatever goodness waltzed into his life at that point was found at the end of a bottle. One that could be refilled as many times as he needed - and by that invisible sky man, he _needed_ it.

Fixer could right the unfortunate outcome that had become the once glorious Commonwealth of Massachusetts, but she sure as hell couldn't fix him. It was too daunting a task for anyone to undertake, even someone like herself. He wasn't some organization, some house, some toaster. All those things could be fixed. He was destitute on an emotional level. John had died a long time ago. All that was left was a hollowed out, sarcastic, lying, son of a bitch…

That was the great thing about it though – he _was_ a sarcastic, lying, son of a bitch, and he could pass off saying he was okay, because everything _was_ okay. So long as he had a cold Pilsner in his hand, the world would go on about its merry business and he'd be okay enough to keep on keepin' on.

Sometimes it wasn't enough.

Sometimes _desultory_ wouldn't be pretty enough to satisfy the 'one-day-five-beers-at-a-time' mentality.

Sometimes _lackluster_ wasn't fucking shiny enough.

Sometimes _void_ wasn't as deep, or wide, or far enough for him to justify one step forward for mankind, eight-and-a-half steps back for the emotionally stunted, out of work spy.

Sometimes _depleted_ needed a few fucking things thrown in to make it seem worthwhile.

Sometimes he'd cheat on a smooth talking Travis Miles to check in with 'Radio Railroad' because mandatory retirement wasn't all that great.

It was one of those nights where the end of a bottle just didn't look okay enough for him to feel comfortable in his own skin. He needed a project, a newsboy, and a prime spot inside the walls of Bunker Hill. If it wasn't exactly that, something else would suffice. The dots and dashes spelled out something that had him seeking out Nora instead of the other way around.

 _Good Rockin' Tonight_. _Biggest cats in town… Meet me in a hurry._


	2. I'm a Nuka Girl In a Nuka World

(Author's Note: Pardon the changes between the prologue and this chapter. I had written the prologue several months ago and decided to take some artistic liberties when writing this chapter. It starts out going through a few events to show you where Deacon is mentally, and to expand upon Nora's character. She will also be a big character in this story. Negative feed back and constructive criticism are always welcome!)

It was unlike anything he had seen before. The ruins of CIT were settling into the earth, concussive shockwaves of tiny explosions erupting through the ground and up whatever building they'd sought refuge on. Nora's hair stuck to the blood and sweat trickling down her face. Her steely blue eyes transfixed on the blazing hole in the ground. Somewhere down there, her son had disintegrated into ash. The disbelief washed over her countenance, "So… That's it?"

Deacon mirrored the feeling entirely. That was it. It had gone down in a blaze of glory, and now it was over. The overwhelming sense of justice he'd felt while in the heat of the moment was cooling. That was it. The Boogeyman was gone. He was still left with the impending dread of loneliness and the sting of challenged bigotry.

"Stragglers are sure to have escaped before the implosion. We'll have to deal with the rest when they show their faces," Danse's voice pierced the silence. He'd forgotten that Nora's closest friends were part of the battalion that had infiltrated from the sewers. What mattered, at the end of the day, was that the Synths were freed and had made it to safety. Who cares if the Minutemen were the ones to thank for the entirety of the operation? Besides, Dez and Nora had come to an agreement while talks were going on. The Minutemen and the Railroad were working hand in hand on this one. But boy, did it feel like an empty win.

In that moment, Deacon's mask slipped back into place, and an all too cool demeanor took over. After lighting a cigarette, then letting out an impressive cloud of smoke, he joked with an impish, "Damn, I forgot to hire that sky writer."

* * *

Desdemona could feel Deacon's eyes on her still. She'd been very clear. Even if he didn't want retirement, it was his reality from now on. He'd got what he wanted, and now she needed to focus the Railroad's direction in another way. Unfortunately, he was a hindrance. "If you think that this decision was an easy one to make, you're incredibly mistaken," she tried to justify.

"Yeah, do you really think I'm going to believe that?" The seething tone was hard to miss. Nora stood, off to the side, her posture defensive despite an effort to appear as if she weren't eavesdropping.

With a sigh, Dez sat down in a chair and looked up at him, finally capable of meeting his covered glare. "I know you'll believe what you want to believe. I also know you're not an idiot. Carrington has wanted you out for a long time."

With wounded pride, Deacon sucked in a deep, unsteady breath. "Dez, come on—"

"This is not a matter for discussion. The decision has been made and I'm not going back on it." Despite the fact that Deacon tried to interject with a 'Yeah, but…' Desdemona continued on, "At some point you're going to have to make a life for yourself again. You can't spend the rest of it running away and pretending like nothing penetrates that armor you call a disguise. As your friend and colleague, I'm telling you that, frankly, I don't give a shit that you feel you can't trust anyone. If you spend your life without some level of vulnerability thrown into the mix, you'll realize that you never really lived."

A retort itched at the tip of his tongue, and though he would have loved to throw blows just as low, he felt the need to hold it between his teeth. This wasn't up for debate, as she had said. The decision was final. Deacon was kicked off the island.

Unfortunately, that left him with a nasty existential dilemma. He knew this Deacon. This guy was easy. He didn't have to focus on himself because he was too busy learning about others. He could hide behind a façade and weave lies so fantastic that people were honestly torn between what was true and what was embellished.

If he wasn't this Deacon, then he was John. Barbara's John. The farmer who'd fallen head over heels for a girl with a dazzling smile and wits enough to send him running for his caps. Try as he might, he knew _that_ John would never return; he could never bring _her_ back. But before that, there was the bigot. The man he'd been running from for a few decades now.

Without the Railroad, he was nothing…

* * *

It was an uncommonly cool summer night, but the break from the sweltering August heat was a relief. Deacon had, much unlike himself, come to Nora to talk. Why he'd even come to her in the first place was beyond his own comprehension. Perhaps it was because of their bond. She had a lot of friends, yeah, but she was different with him. He sat on her balcony, waiting patiently for her to get out of the shower. His leg bounced. As much as he tried to calm himself down, he just couldn't.

When Nora finally came outside he could feel the emotional shift.

 _Deflect…_

 _Desist…_

 _Just don't open your god damn mouth…_

It surprised him when he heard her words puncture his line of thought. "Do you ever think that the universe is laughing at us?"

Deacon let out a sigh, and felt the anxiety induced tension in his shoulders relax a fraction of an inch. "It's the only song and dance I know, boss," his words were smooth, collected, cool. Still, it was the most honest he'd been in… When did he tell her about Barbara again?

"Sometimes I just look out over everything and think about the way it was before. I don't think I was ever meant to make it here. I was supposed to die in the vault with the rest of them. And yet, here I am…" She tossed her brush down onto the table between their chairs and looked over at him. "Want a cold one?"

Deacon let out a breath, something like a laugh, as his mouth pulled over into that lopsided grin he always wore around her. "Gonna need something harder than that for this."

They had a few drinks. Jack and Nuka, to be precise. The time was spent talking and laughing until the buzz was just enough to get him talking. She didn't push though. That was the one thing he loved about her – she never, ever pushed. Instead, she waited until he was ready to talk. She'd been surprisingly calm about his little tests with her, but when he opened up she just quietly listened and said, 'I'm sorry'. That was it. It was the extent of their conversation. No hugs, no fuss, no pressing for more.

They'd been silent for several minutes, sipping on their drinks, watching the bustle of Sanctuary at night. It was still a work in progress, but Diamond City would be a slum when she finished with everything. Finally, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, drink dangling from loose fingers, and put words to the feelings he'd harbored silently for months. "I don't think I can do this anymore."

"This?" Nora's voice was quiet, but honestly attentive.

Deacon made some lazy gesture toward the air and grunted the word, "Life," out.

After a moment of silence, Nora sighed, "Yeah." The chair squeaked as her weight shifted. Deacon looked back at her, watching her damp black waves fall past her shoulders. The tee shirt and shorts left little to the imagination, but he didn't imagine very much. She was his best friend, nothing more. And by the power of whatever sick, sadistic cosmic being that had put them in that situation, he knew he loved her. All they needed was this. These nights. The cathartic energy of unadulterated honesty that no one else could ever hope to match. That was their love. It would never be physical in any way. Still, even knowing that, it was a blow to the gut when her usually vibrant greyish-blue eyes dulled and she murmured, "I know what you mean. I think I'm right there with you."

* * *

"How far down is it, Codsworth?" Deacon asked. He stood on the edge of Ticon, gazing down at the ground. The height wasn't so scary when it promised death.

There was a distinct whir, Codsworth turning towards him he supposed, it's not like he checked to see for certain. "Sir?"

Deacon reiterated, "How far is it from here to the ground?"

"Far enough," the robot mimicked a chuckle. "Forgive me, Master Deacon, but are you sure you're feeling all right?"

A hollow laugh escaped past Deacon's lips. It would be so easy to jump. Would it be worth it? Would he see her again? "You bet."

* * *

Beneath a seemingly abandoned church lay an expanse of catacombs crawling with life. The air was cool, but stale. It definitely wasn't built to accommodate all the people bustling around actually breathing the air. What stood out impossibly more than the staleness of the air was the alarming combination of smells: body odor, dust, and mold.

From the corner of a room off the side of what appeared to be some sort of headquarters, Katherine sat in complete silence. Every muscle and tendon from her pectorals to her shoulders screamed in an unquenchable burning pain. The rope binding her wrists together hadn't loosened despite her best efforts. She'd given up on those days ago. Now the rope was crusted to her flesh with puss and dried blood.

The occasional thought would enter her head, though it felt noisier to let herself think rather than listen to the hum of activity just beyond her makeshift cell. If she let herself think, there might be the staunch realization that life, indeed, was not the way she had remembered it. Instead she let her mind drift into meditative silence where time was marked only by the distant pitter-patter of water droplets falling onto the floor. It wouldn't be too long before the calm of an empty mind would falter and panic would set in, of that she was absolutely certain.

After a good half hour, she was finally relaxed enough to go to sleep. The deep ache in her muscles was a distant buzz. She was out of her body, soaring above the world, out into the cosmos and headed toward the nearest star. Whatever that star was, it would be far enough away from this hellish nightmare. Piercing the absolute silence of the vacuum of space were heavy, booted footfalls on a dirt floor. Each one made her flinch, and finally she was awoken by her foot being kicked.

As Katherine's eyes flickered open, she realized there were three people surrounding her. One was the woman she'd come to know as Desdemona. She stood off to the side, cigarette poised in hand as per usual. The other two, a man and a woman, she hadn't seen before. "Hey kid, wake up," the unfamiliar woman urged.

In her sleepy delirium, Katherine tried to stretch her arms. The rope constricted impossibly tighter, and she hissed. "What, more questions?" She seethed.

"Unfortunately," the woman replied. Katherine eyed warily as the woman walked around the back of the chair. A small mutter of "Jesus" escaped the woman's lips. A warmish blade pressed against the skin between her arms. There was tugging and pushing as she sawed the rope away. "Dee, I need some gauze, anti-septic, and a stimpak. Dez, I can take it from here."

When the two left the room, the woman helped her slowly ease her aching shoulders forward. Each movement provided a burning, stabbing, or stinging sensation. Once she was sitting up properly, tears fell from her eyes. The woman pulled up a chair, sitting directly in front of her. Katherine gazed, noticing how beautiful she was. She was unlike anyone else she'd seen since stepping out of the vault in New York. This woman looked 'otherworldly'. Soft enough to be from 2077, but hardened in ways she didn't yet understand.

Perhaps it was just a fluke. After all, how weird would it be to have two women from the same time period walking around Boston? It couldn't have been that common an occurrence without some drastic change because of radiation. She'd seen them personally. _Ghouls_. There might as well have been goblins, or green skinned witches flying around on broomsticks with winged monkeys as their personal lackeys. All of this would have been some sort of hellish nightmare back in her day.

Somewhere from behind, the man she'd called 'Dee' walked back into the room, arms full of food, water, clothes, syringes, gauze, and whatever else. "So, I know you only wanted three specific things, but I suddenly found my purpose in life. I think I'm going to change my name to Tim Gunn and make it wor-"

"Oh my god, can you shut up?" The woman giggled. Katherine didn't see what was so funny about it all. "Go boil some water or something."

The man stuck his bottom lip out as he dumped the load in his arms onto a table. "Come on, boss. We can be good cop, bad cop! I'll be the feisty one in a suit." The woman shot him a look, which led to him backing out of the room slowly with his hands up.

After a moment of contemplation, she added, "And bring soap!"

From a distance, Katherine heard him reply with, "My liege!"

Finally, the woman turned back around and faced her, eyes softening. "Sorry about that, you'll get used to him, I promise." Katherine didn't say anything. Instead, she chewed on the dead skin that had been building up on her bottom lip. "I'm Nora. Nora Miles. You'll have to forgive my friends, they're not the ones who deal with the general public." Katherine would have laughed, instead she continued staring 'Nora' down.

After a moment, Nora stood and walked over to the table. The girl was obviously traumatized. If what she'd heard was true, this girl was a lot like her. She took a moment to reflect on what Dez had told her. "How long did it take you to walk from New York?"

Katherine was stubborn for just a moment, but when Nora picked up the gauze and antiseptic she decided to be cooperative. "Two weeks."

"Hey, that's pretty good time, all things considered." The smile on Nora's face was genuine. "Listen, I want to get you cleaned up, then I want to help you get to wherever it is you're going." She sat back down in front of Katherine, balancing everything she'd picked up in her lap.

Katherine squealed and squirmed as Nora injected a local anesthetic into her hands and wrists. Once it had set in, she couldn't feel the pain there anymore. The man she'd taken to calling Deacon had come back with a pot of hot water and soap. "Need help, Nor?" His voice was much softer this time.

Nora simply shook her head, watched him walk from the room, then turned back to Katherine. "I don't know how much you've picked up on this world, but things are different. I've had a hard time getting used to it myself. See, I'm from a vault too. Vault Tec was running experiments. Mine just happened to be a cryogenic freeze."

It struck a chord, one that Katherine wasn't sure she wanted to feel at the moment. This woman had to be playing head games with her. She stayed silent, resolved to say as little as possible. She wouldn't buy in.

Nora soaked a sponge in the hot water, then wrung the excess out. The angry rope burns were her primary objective. Even though the girl wasn't talking, she continued, "My husband had come out of the Army. We'd had a son, he was only around two months old at the time. There was a Veteran's ball going on that night. The Vault Tec Representative had just finished taking down our information from Nate not even fifteen minutes before the first reports came through."

Katherine saw the horror wash over her face. "He wouldn't let go of Shaun. I could see it written all over his face. He had to protect our baby. If he'd just let me have Shaun, I would have been the one to die, and he'd be far better suited for this world. I'm just a lawyer who lost her husband and son. I get up, and there's something that someone needs me to do. It's all that has kept me going. I don't even remember what white picket fences or green grass look like."

"I'm sorry," Katherine offered in a voice barely above a whisper.

Nora shook her head and smiled, their eyes meeting for the first time. She chuckled as she said, "It's alright. I can imagine you're just as lost as I was."

"My name is Katherine, by the way." Their gaze continued to hold.

Nora's smile settled into something more genuine, and she nodded, "Aldridge, right? Even if Dez hadn't told me before, I would have recognized you right away."

Kat let out a hollow laugh, her eyes suddenly downcast, "You'd be the first. Everyone else just calls me Nuka Girl."

Nora shook her head and threw the dirty sponge back down into the bucket. "That's too bad. I remember your show. _A New York Moment_ , right?" Katherine smiled, nodding. Nora really was just like her, from a world long dead and forgotten. "Nate hated it, he thought you played such an airhead." Kat finally stretched her arms, letting out little whimpers of pain. "He said it never did an intelligent young woman like you, justice."

Kat shrugged up a shoulder, then sighed. "Doesn't matter now, I suppose."

In truth, it didn't. No one would remember the world she'd left behind. She'd been in her dressing room, talking with her make-up artist about one of the asshole producers when the first bit of news came in about the bombs falling. In the panic, her fiancé, one of the regular directors, had grabbed her by the hand, his grip firm. Off they ran through the crowded, panicked streets of New York City. There was barely time to process what had happened, let alone where they could possibly be running off to. It was the last thing she remembered before falling out of a malfunctioning cryopod. Now she was an artifact of a world that had died two centuries beforehand. To make matters worse, it wasn't a dream.


End file.
